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Bridge
The Uniforms march them through a maze of corridors and finally push them through a nondescript door. Logan scans the room, marks the single exit, Uniforms between them and it, lots of blinking lights and wires. To Jackson: "We're not lucky." Jackson sighs, rubs his eyes. "I'm Doctor Lightcap, she-her-hers, and this is Drift Science," greets a blonde, bowing to Logan. Logan arranges his face into a winning smile and bows deeply back. Lightcap beams, turns to Jackson. Jackson studies his toes. His Uniform clears their throat. Jackson folds slightly from the waist. Lightcap's smile frays. "It's nice to meet you, Mxs—" She checks her tablet. "—Jones. Welcome to Kodiak." "Thank you for having us," replies Logan. "You're very welcome." Happy Lightcap returns. "Ready to Drift?" Logan nods, still smiling. "Been looking forward to it all night." "That's what I like to hear." Gestures vaguely. "If you two would make yourselves comfortable ...." The Uniforms march them to a bench under something ... very sci-fi. "Monkeys!" A flock of lab coat-clad young people flutter into view. "Practice Drift, standard setup, those two! Go!" Lightcap waves with a flourish. "You guys will be part of our next Ranger class if you pass this morning's test." "Cool!" grins Logan. Jackson does a double take. "Isn't it? I love this part." Lightcap floats to a bank of monitors. "Excuse us, Officers," meeps Underling Number One, pushing by. "Doctor," says a Uniform, "our orders are to accompany and monitor Mxs Jones at all times." The lab assistants connect wires and electrodes to Jackson and Logan. "That's fine. There're chairs along the wall you can use." The Uniforms grumble but take seats. Lightcap burbles, "Our goal today is to initiate a neural handshake, measure its strength, and see if you can hold it stable for our first-time limit of ten minutes." Swipes. "Preliminary scores are similar," she continues, "so this'll either be a cakewalk or you'll tear your brains apart." Jackson greys. "That's it?" asks Logan. "Can't get much worse than brain dead," replies Lightcap. "Though your organs could be harvested ...." "There's no middle ground?" croaks Jackson. "Of course there is," scoffs Lightcap. "But 'prepare for the worst, hope for the best'!" She taps away. "This part's pretty straightforward: Let the ... /'stuff' from your partner wash through, don't grab hold of a memory, no matter how pleasant or frightening. Hang on and there's a chance your brain turns to soup. Following so far?" Logan nods; Jackson stares blankly ahead. Lightcap smiles encouragingly. "Try to relax and don't try to fight anything. On 'three'." Jackson swallows. "Two." Logan offers a thumbs up. "One." ""Initiating Neural Handshake."" ' ' Loading your backpack with energy bars—cupcakes!— that Charlie made one night with Book and Wom-Wom— Hope the bean likes it—do beans even 'like' things that young— Baby, during lightsaber battles, screaming when a person of Asian descent puts a knife neatly through your hand covered in paint that would look great on Charlie and she tosses a roll of bandages onto your crash pad; you lie back down with weeks-old Book snoozing on your chest has a cat on it. Why do I keep dreaming about— Charlie and her smiles and painting the ceiling black green blue— ""Neural Handshake: Initiated."" Underling Number One calls, "Seventy-six percent." "But holding!" adds Underling Number Two. "Better than nothing," sighs Lightcap. To Logan: "Combat forms, please." "I'm not sure what you mean," he replies. "No prior combat training?" "Nothing formal, sorry," says Logan. "Same?" Jackson shakes his head— Logan's perspective tilts and stomach lurches. "Okay, well, stand up, for starters." They do; vertigo, so much vertigo echoing between them— "Either of you know how to dance?" "No," croaks Logan. "Wedding," volunteers Jackson. "You danced at your wedding?" "Yea." "Since—wait, wedding?" Jackson nods—swallows. "Aha!" Slyly, "Do you and your partner have kids?" "Two—" Jackson's stomach rolls. She makes a note. "How o—" "Doctor, the reading's are getting wibbly," calls Underling Number Two. "Wibbly' how?" "Alignment's destabilizing and weakening," explains Underling Number One. "Time?" "Five minutes, Doctor." "Well," sighs Lightcap, "I've seen worse." Shrugs. "You two'll get better." Turns away. "Monkeys, let's power down." "Disengaging Pons," announces Underling Number Three. ""Neural Handshake: Terminated."" Command gold comes loose, swirling swirling swirling swirling— ""Vomiting's an uncommon side effect, but not unheard of,"" Lightcap notes. ""Probably should give them some anti-nausea stuff next time, just to be safe."" Logan gags again, stares at the tile cool beneath his skin— Jackson's fallen over on his side, dry heaving and trying not to choke. ""Good morning, Doctor,"" calls a voice Logan would like to punch. Jackson queries. ""Good morning, sir,"" Lightcap greets brightly. Pompous fart. Polished shoes click across the tile. ""How fare our newest Cadets?"" The voice matches, good god. Lightcap's sensibles cross the lab. ""Well, their handshake strength is /'juuust' above the minimum acceptable threshold, but it'll get stronger once they start to blur."" A pause. They match step. ""Dossier indicates they should be able to take it. Put crudely, they're a couple of tough fuckers."" ""They're Australians. I thought they had to be tough to survive Down Under."" Polished Shoes laughs. ""Sure, sure. But these two are something else. What do you make of them?"" ""Right's eager, left's nervous. Generally pleasant."" ""Well, don't let them fool you. They're under guard for good reason."" ""Oh?"" ""That one lost it on the trip and broke his escort's nose."" Logan chuckles, risks rolling over, and ribs Jackson. "Nice job, Jack." Jackson coughs. ""You don't say."" ""/'Never' let your guard down around them."" ""If they're that dangerous, they should make great Rangers."" ""That's the hope."" Logan laughs. Polished sneers, ""Get these two cleaned up."" Logan laughs and laughs and throws up. Uniforms haul him and Jackson to their feet and drag them from the lab. 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